


Welcome to the Neighbourhood

by allyasavedtheday



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Angst, F/M, Fluff, I am appalled at how fluffy I made this tbh, M/M, Next-Door Neighbours, but just a teeny bit I swear, deputy!Stiles, florist!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyasavedtheday/pseuds/allyasavedtheday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a deal with his neighbours. He mows their lawns and gets the leaves out of their gutters and does all the manual work they can’t handle any more and in return all the old ladies fatten him up with cookies and cakes and homemade lemonade – or hot chocolate on a winter’s day.</p><p>As far as he’s concerned, it’s a pretty sweet deal he’s got going on. That is, at least, until some asshole starts taking all his business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to the Neighbourhood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [warmth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmth/gifts).



> This began as a simple next-door neighbour au in one of those prompt meme things on tumblr and then morphed into Hela's 15k christmas present and honestly I'm not even a little bit sorry about it ;)
> 
> Characters, as always, do not belong to me :)

Stiles is aware he’s a little bit of an oddity in his neighbourhood. After all, the majority of his neighbours are forty to fifty years his senior. This means, yes, he’s essentially living in a retirement village but he doesn’t particularly care.

He likes it.

They always let him know when someone “suspicious” – aka Jackson usually – has been by his house while he’s at work. They always look happy to see him whenever he meets one of them on the street. But better than all that; they have a deal.

He mows their lawns and gets the leaves out of their gutters and does all the manual work they can’t handle any more and in return all the old ladies fatten him up with cookies and cakes and homemade lemonade – or hot chocolate on a winter’s day.

As far as he’s concerned, it’s a pretty sweet deal he’s got going on. That is, at least, until some asshole starts taking all his business.

He doesn’t really notice at first because Mandy down at the station is sick which means he has to pick up a bunch of her shifts. For about two weeks his life consists of migrating from his house to his car to the station and back again.

He doesn’t have time to be inspecting anyone else’s lawns in between all that. If he  _did_  have time, he would’ve noticed that the “For Sale” sign on the house next door to him had been taken down and that Mrs Addlington’s garden was tame in a way that it hasn’t been since Stiles tackled it over six weeks ago.

It isn’t until he’s going for a run on a blessed morning off and he bumps into Mr Parkes on his way to get the paper that Stiles finds out what’s happening.

“Morning Stiles,” Mr Parkes greets with a smile.

Stiles slows to a stop and pulls his earphones out of his ears, “Hey, I’ve been meaning to stop by. I can help you plant those rose bushes this weekend, if you like.” Stiles is idly aware he’s never exactly been a Good Samaritan. But he’s also aware he’s never tasted food quite like the stuff the residents of this street make. He’s willing to do a hell of a lot more than a bit of manual labour for Mrs Parkes’ Lemon Drizzle Cake.

Mr Parkes chuckles at him like Stiles is being foolish. Once he takes stock of Stiles’ confused face, he stops. “I’m sorry, son, I forgot you’ve been busy the last few weeks. The rose bushes are already done.”

“Oh did Judith’s grandson visit-“

“No, no. It was our new neighbour. A Mister Derek Hale, I believe. Nice boy.”

Stiles frowns, “New neighbour? Since when do we have-“ He stops and turns back in the direction of his own house. And sure enough, the “For Sale” sign on the house next door is gone.

Mr Parkes seems to take pity on him and provides a bit more of an explanation, “Moving vans arrived not long after you left for work last week.” Stiles’ favourite things about retirees: they have nothing to do all day but watch  _everyone_  and gossip about it incessantly.

“Huh.” Stiles gives the house one more glance before turning back to Mr Parkes. “Well, if you need help with anything else, just let me know.”

Mr Parkes nods and waves him off to finish his run.

*

It keeps happening after that. Every single time he meets one of his neighbours on the street or around town they gush about that, “Nice young man, Derek,” and all the wonderful, helpful things he’s done for them.

Stiles is…Stiles is scandalised honestly. His street is  _his_  territory and those treats are supposed to his for the taking. Who does this  _Derek_  think he is?

Stiles is at the end of his tether by the time Mrs Anderson sweetly explains that Derek’s already fixed her leaky sink. Mrs Anderson’s Hot Cocoa Cupcakes are the only thing that makes Stiles’ life worth living! This is an outrage. It’s time he had a little chat with this Derek person and explain how things work around here.

He marches right up to Derek’s door, prepared to give him a piece of his mind, and raps on it with just enough force to convey his irritability. He hears the faint thuds of footsteps and then the door is opening and he sees...

_Holy shit._

Stiles knows he exaggerates a lot but he isn’t lying when he says literally the most attractive human being on the planet opens the door.

“Yes?” The guy at the door – Derek, he assumes – raises his eyebrows expectantly.

It takes Stiles a minute to find his voice again. All he really has to do is think about all the cakes he’s missed out on in the last couple of weeks and it’s enough for him to overlook the devastating attractiveness of his new arch nemesis.

“I don’t think we’ve met yet,” he says, sticking out a hand in greeting. “I’m Stiles Stilinski, your next-door neighbour.”

Derek gives him a considering look but shakes his hand nonetheless, “I’m Derek.”

“I’ve heard,” Stiles hums. “The old ladies just can’t stop raving about how helpful you are,” he adds with a hint of bitterness. Lack of sugar makes him a bit of a dick, okay?

“Right,” Derek replies mildly. “Is there anything else you need because I’m a little busy right now.”

Which, rude. Stiles would snap about neighbourly etiquette but he’s more mature than that. He’s an officer of the law now – an officer who’s probably not above abusing his powers to check up on his new neighbour.

“Of course,” Stiles acquiesces with a fake smile. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Derek answers, though he looks a bit concerned by the sudden intensity of Stiles’ expression as he closes the door.

Stiles needs to go about this the right way. He can’t just blow up. He needs to be stealthy in stealing all his customers back from Derek’s distractingly beautiful hands.

*

Stiles strides into work the following day with a renewed determination, heading straight for Danny’s office and grinning brightly as he enters the room.

“Hey Danny, you know you’re my favourite, right?”

Danny slumps forward in his chair, sighing long-sufferingly. “What do you want Stiles?”

“Can’t I just chat to my favourite computer genius without having ulterior motives?” Stiles asks innocently, perching on Danny’s desk.

“No,” he deadpans.

Stiles gives up the charade with a huff, “Fine. I need you to check someone out for me.”

“Who?”

“My new neighbour. Derek Hale.”

“He seem suspicious or something?” Danny asks, readying his fingers over the keyboard.

“Not exactly,” he hedges.

Danny pauses and eyes him speculatively, “You have a crush, don’t you?”

“ _What?_  No!” Stiles squawks indignantly.

Danny starts snickering, “You do! You have a crush on him and you want me to see if he’s crazy. Stiles, you know that’s illegal.”

“That’s not it!” Stiles insists. “He just…” he trails off grumbling about cakes.

“He what?”

“He’s helping all the old folks out and taking all the cakes, okay?” Stiles snaps, feeling his face flush with embarrassment when Danny starts laughing.

Stiles knew he should’ve bribed the intern.

*

It turns out Derek owns the new flower shop in town, which explains his handiness around the neighbourhood. Ugh. He didn’t even have to hack into the database to figure it out – like he said before, neighbourhood gossip is a gift.

He’s complaining to Scott about the problem on the phone at work and ignoring his dad’s reproachful look from across the room. Scott’s laughing at him and has been doing so for about twenty minutes while Stiles spins idly on his chair, using the front desk to keep himself from moving too much.

“Scott, dude, stop. This isn’t funny,” he whines.

“Oh it totally is,” Scott snickers. “Dude, you’re complaining because someone’s doing the work your poor dad gave up on trying to convince you to do when you were seventeen.”

“That was different!” Stiles dismisses. “I get cookies for doing that stuff now.”

“I seem to remember your dad bribing you,” Scott comments.

“He couldn’t meet my price,” he grumbles.

“Look, if you’re that bothered about it just ask the guy to stop,” Scott advises. “He’s probably just trying to make a good first impression anyway.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Scott gives a resigned laugh, “Whatever, Stiles. My break’s over, I’ll call you later.”

“Fine,” Stiles sighs. “Go save lives.”

“You too!” Scott calls back before hanging up.

As soon as Stiles puts down the phone, his dad strides over. “That wasn’t a personal call, was it, Deputy Stilinski?” he asks, using his fake authoritative voice.

Stiles heaves a put-upon sigh, “Dad, I’m so not in the mood for you to pretend to reprimand me.”

“Ah yes. Your neighbour’s stealing your treats, I forgot,” John says, trying to suppress his smirk.

“Don’t pretend this isn’t a travesty,” Stiles warns.

“Piece of advice, son.” John leans over the counter and lowers his voice. “If you want cakes so bad…buy a damn cookbook!”

John barks a laugh at Stiles’ affronted look before strolling back into his office.

*

It’s a Saturday, the sun is shining and Stiles has the entire day off. He relishes in the warm breeze that hits him the minute he steps out his front door. He’d considered relaxing in his back yard but the trees by the back fence block all the sun. He always feels a little weird about lying on his sun lounger out the front, wearing nothing but shorts; mostly because he’s aware of far too many women old enough to be his grandmother, ogling him. But he’s too hot today to think much of it.

He’s just settling into his book when the sound of a lawn mower starts up. His head snaps up and he looks over the fence and there’s Derek parading around without a shirt. He turns around and Stiles catches sight of the tattoo curling between his shoulder blades. It makes his mouth go dry.

Stiles shakes his head and feels another bout of irritation rear up. Derek has some nerve. He’s going to give the old ladies a heart attack, not to mention he’s making Stiles’ shorts feel tight in a way they totally shouldn’t while he’s surrounded by the elderly. And don’t even get him started about all the racket the lawn mower is making while Stiles is trying to find some goddamn tranquillity after a long week of work.

He must get distracted staring because suddenly Mrs Davis is stopping in front of him, smiling knowingly. “He’s easy on the eyes, isn’t he?” she says, winking conspiratorially.

Stiles is too busy spluttering to dignify her with a response. She only laughs and continues on with her walk, shamelessly watching Derek’s every move.

And that is the last straw. Stiles might feel weird about the way the grandmothers of this street watch him when he’s working on their gardens but he can admit the narcissistic part of him enjoys it just a little. He’s been single for a  _long_  time, alright? He’ll take whatever appreciative looks he can get. And now Derek’s taking that too!

He allows himself one little traitorous look at Derek’s toned chest before he snaps his book shut and stomps back inside.

Stiles is  _definitely_  getting drunk tonight.

*

There’s all of two bars in Beacon Hills; the one for middle-aged men to watch football and drink beer at and the “trendy” bar for twenty-something-year-olds to pick up one night stands.

Stiles is currently at the latter with Scott, Allison, Jackson, Lydia, Danny and Ethan. In other words; he’s seventh wheel.  Well not technically; Aiden’s around here doing something – more like,  _someone_ , Stiles’ brain corrects.

Stiles himself is a little bit tipsy. His friends must feel bad for him or something because they keep shoving drinks in his direction. He’s also been propositioned by way too many men and women who think calling him “officer” is a turn on for him. It’s  _not_ , by the way.

Regardless, Stiles is enjoying himself. He loves the nights where they all make sure they have time off so they can just hang out without any responsibilities for a little while.

Eventually though the group starts dwindling. Danny and Ethan are the first to leave, followed an hour later by Jackson and Lydia. Aiden doesn’t come back to the table once. All that remains are Scott, Stiles and Allison when Stiles sees him.

Derek’s at the bar, wearing sinfully tight jeans and a leather jacket. And while that’s mighty impressive, Stiles has just spent the better part of an hour ranting to Scott and Allison about him so he’s more pissed off than turned on – or maybe he’s equal parts of both.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to stand up and march over to the bar but he’s out of his seat before Scott and Allison even realise what he’s doing.

“Hey you!” he calls, catching Derek’s attention.

Derek swivels in his seat, about to say something when Stiles pokes him in the chest – his very  _firm_  chest, oh fuck. “Where do you get off?” Stiles starts like he’s interrogating a difficult shoplifter. “I have been  _slaving_  over those people’s homes for two years and very happily reaping the rewards, I’ll have you know.”

He’s aware his speech is probably much more slurred than it sounds in his head but he’s on a roll, he doesn’t care.

“And then, in you waltz,” Stiles gestures wildly with his hand. “And you just- you just  _take over!_ What’s up with that?”

Derek’s staring at him in utter bewilderment while Stiles waits expectantly for an answer. But then he feels Scott’s hand circle his shoulders. “Come on, buddy. Let’s take you home,” he says quietly, ushering Stiles away from Derek.

“But- but Scott! That’s the cake stealer!” Stiles cries. He hears Allison giggling behind him and Scott looks like he’s very manfully restraining himself from laughing but he still continues to move Stiles along.

“I know, Stiles,” Scott answers. “You can talk to him tomorrow.”

*

Stiles wakes up in his own bed with a headache that feels like he’s being hit repeatedly and forcefully with a sledgehammer and it isn’t being helped by the continuous knocking on his front door. Ugh he hasn’t drank that much since college – granted that was only two years ago but still.

He rolls over, groaning, as a piece of paper crumples underneath him. He forces himself to sit up and inspects the note.

_“I couldn’t find your pyjamas and you wouldn’t let me help you put on a shirt but you’re wearing pants and that’s what counts, right?_

_There’s water and Tylenol on your bedside table_

_I’ll stop by with coffee and doughnuts on my way to work_

-           _Love, Scott : )”_

Stiles laughs to himself before looking at the clock, Scott should be here within the next half an hour, thank God.

The knocking on his front door continues – it’s not Scott because he’d just walk right in, which means it’s a neighbour.

He whimpers before rolling out of bed and grabbing his hoodie off the back of the door. He considers it a personal feat that he manages to shrug it on while walking down the stairs without tripping.

He stumbles to the front door and opens it just as the knocking starts up again. It’s Derek. And suddenly the end of last night comes flooding back to him. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

It must show on his face because Derek’s now smirking smugly. “I take it you remember what happened last night?” he asks, sounding far too pleased with himself.

“Yeah,” Stiles winces. “Sorry about that.”

“Apparently I’m the “cake stealer”?” He raises one of those ridiculous eyebrows at Stiles and no, it is way too early in the morning for this.

Stiles sighs and leans against the doorframe. “Come on, man. I might’ve been drunk last night but I meant what I said. I kind of don’t appreciate you coming in here and doing everyone’s odd jobs for them. That was my thing.”

“Because they fed you?” Derek guesses.

“Hey I’m a starving college graduate with ginormous debts, if they choose to pay me in food I’m not gonna say no.”

Derek scoffs, shaking his head in a way that  _almost_  looks amused. Almost. “Whatever, Stiles.”

He turns to head back down the path and, in a fit of courage – and perhaps outrage - Stiles runs after him. “Hey wait!”

He catches onto Derek’s arm, forcing him to stop. Derek throws his eyes heavenward like he’s asking God why he had to give him  _Stiles_  as his next-door neighbour. Well, Derek’s not exactly a ray of sunshine either.

“Can’t we work something out?” Stiles pleads. “Like you help out one week and I do another? Just-  _something?”_

Derek pretends to think about it and Stiles notices quite a few heads peeking out behind curtains from across the street. Then Derek’s shaking his head and giving Stiles a shit-eating grin, “I don’t think so.”

“Wh- but why?!” Stiles splutters.

“Don’t feel like it!” Derek calls before hopping over the fence and back into his own yard.

Oh it is well and truly on.

*

Stiles can admit things get a little bit out of control in the weeks that follow. It’s like there’s this unspoken race between them to see who can help out first. Stiles mows Mrs Jeffries’ lawn with laser-like precision and Derek responds by hanging custom-made flower baskets in the Parkes’ porch. Derek cleans the leaves out of the gutters at Mrs Addlington’s, Stiles fixes Mrs Davis’ clogged sink. It kind of goes on like that for about three weeks or so. Stiles hardly sees his friends he’s so busy and the cakes have never tasted sweeter than when he’s rubbing them in Derek Hale’s face. On the plus side though, the neighbourhood looks pristine.

There’s just one other thing.

Things after his altercation with Derek get a little, uh, weird around the neighbourhood.

It seems Stiles and Derek are now the hot topic of discussion amongst their neighbours. Apparently they’d, “make a charming couple,” which honestly, just make Stiles laugh. Oh if everyone only knew how they really felt about each other. They’d be singing quite a different song, that’s for sure.

It doesn’t change the fact though that Stiles is uncomfortably aware of the amount of eyes on him when he and Derek are bickering over the fence  _or_  that it’s even more obvious that Derek gives him a case of dry mouth and sweaty palms just by looking at him for more than half a second.

He ignores the latter problem by throwing all that pent up emotion into his work – both at the station and around the neighbourhood.

It all comes to a head on a dull Saturday afternoon. Mrs Davis asks Stiles that morning if he’d mind painting the spare bedrooms in her house. He, of course, does not mind at all – her red velvet sandwich cookies would restore your faith in humanity.

So after lunch that day, he heads across the street in his old lacrosse t-shirt and sweats; ready to get to work. What he doesn’t expect, however, is for  _Derek_  to open the door.

“What are  _you_  doing here?” Stiles demands.

“I’m helping Mrs Davis paint her rooms. What are  _you_  doing here?” Derek snaps in an accusatory voice.

“No, I think you’ll find  _I’m_  helping Mrs Davis, not you!” he retorts loftily before pushing his way inside.

Derek’s just about to fight back when Mrs Davis arrives in the hallway with a gleaming smile, “Oh good!” She claps her hands together delightedly, “Stiles, you’re here! Now you boys can get to work.”

“Mrs Davis-“

“Call me Edith, dear. I told you that.”

“Edith,” Stiles gives her a brittle smile. “I don’t understand.”

“Oh well, it’s quite simple. There’s a lot of work to be done and I thought it’d help to have two pairs of hands.”

“Edith, that’s really thoughtful of you but I can handle this fine on my own,” Derek assures her. “I’m sure Stiles here has plenty of work to do, what with him fighting crime and all that, we shouldn’t bother him.”

If Derek’s arms weren’t twice the size of his, Stiles would snap him like a twig. As it stands, he’s thinking about all the ways he could murder him without anyone finding the body.

“Nonsense!” Stiles dismisses somewhat hysterically with a manic smile. “I’m never too busy for my favourite neighbour,” he insists, looking pointedly at Edith and ignoring Derek. He hears Derek scoff quietly beside him.

Edith looks between them with a calculating look before shaking her head with the faintest smirk. “No, I think it would be best for you both to work together.”

When neither of them moves she gives them both an expectant look. “The paint’s already upstairs,” she says unsubtly.

Derek glares in his direction and Stiles gives him a withering look in return before they turn and trudge up the stairs.

 *

They’ve been working in silence for over an hour and it’s stifling Stiles. He doesn’t mind being quiet with another person but not when it’s  _like this._ The room is stuffy, even with the window open, and something feels charged between them; Stiles thinks he’s going to vibrate right out of his skin if he doesn’t say something soon.

He’s standing on the ladder, trying to use the roller brush but it’s stopping just shy of the corner. With a sigh, he sets it down, “Derek, can you hand me the paintbrush?”

He waits for a second, hand out, still staring at the wall. When he eventually turns he sees Derek using the paintbrush and completely ignoring him.

Stiles scowls and hops down off the ladder, marching over and snatching the paintbrush right out of Derek’s hand.

“I was using that!” Derek barks.

“Well, I need it,” Stiles retorts.

“Stiles give it back.” Derek follows him across the room, latching onto Stiles’ wrist and spinning him around, trying to reach the brush.

There’s a profoundly juvenile few minutes where they semi-wrestle and bat one another’s hands away as Stiles tries to keep the brush in his possession. But then Derek does some weird move that Stiles doesn’t anticipate and he’s stumbling forward into Derek’s space. His left hand is caught between them with Derek’s hand still wrapped around his wrist. His other arm is bent above his head trying to keep the paintbrush out of Derek’s reach but Derek’s holding onto that wrist too.

“Give me,” Derek says quietly. “The paintbrush, Stiles.”

Stiles licks his lips and swallows hard, watching Derek’s eyes flick down as he tracks the movement. He can feel Derek’s breath on his skin. “Make me,” he challenges.

Derek’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly and he looks at Stiles with an inscrutable expression. It makes Stiles want to fidget under his gaze but he doesn’t dare look away.

And then Derek’s gently letting go of him, mumbling, “I’m taking a break,” and stalking out of the room without looking back.

Stiles sinks shakily down on the bottom step of the ladder and leaves out the breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

_Holy shit._

*

Derek returns to the room after about twenty minutes and they resume work without speaking. The silence stretches on again though this time it feels decidedly more awkward and uncomfortable than before.

Stiles counts to one-thousand-and-three before he cracks and speaks up, “Sorry about acting like such a kid earlier.”

Derek only shrugs in response, keeping his eyes trained on the wall.

“Why do you care so much anyway?” he asks, pushing his luck. Derek doesn’t really seem like a people person and it’s been driving Stiles insane trying to figure why he’s so insistent about helping their neighbours.

“Why do you?” Derek replies evenly.

“I asked you first,” Stiles reasons.

Derek levels him with a look as if to say that’s not a legitimate reason.

Stiles huffs, “I don’t know,” he admits. “I have an insatiable sweet tooth?”

Derek scoffs, “Try again.”

“What makes you think that’s not the reason?”

Derek sets down his paintbrush, “I think that’s part of the reason but not the whole thing.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles repeats, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I guess it was kind of the principle of the thing too, y’know?”

“And…?” Derek presses.

Stiles shakes his head with a rueful laugh, “You’re excruciating, you know that? I’m pretty sure this conversation began with me asking  _you_  why you care.”

Derek almost smiles. Stiles’ heart gets lodged in his throat.

“Years of dodging my sisters’ questions about my love life have made me a master of deflection.”

It’s such a simple, natural response, and all it does is make Stiles crave to know more.

“I’ll tell you the rest of my answer after you tell me yours,” he decides.

Derek seems to deliberate that for a moment before nodding. “I don’t really have any friends here,” he says. “And I’m good with gardening and that kind of stuff. I figure I have to pass the time somehow.”

“So you’re lonely?” Stiles surmises and immediately regrets the words.

“I’m not very good with people,” Derek responds lightly.

“You’re not doing too bad right now,” he says, offering Derek a smile like an olive branch. “And the old folks haven’t stopped fawning over you since you arrived. You’re totally stealing my thunder.”

Derek’s laugh is shy and quiet like it happened accidentally but, oh god, Stiles is absolutely hooked. This has officially crossed the line to a crush-like situation. Fantastic.

“Is that it then?” Derek asks with dawning realisation. “You’re jealous?”

“Excuse you!” Stiles starts indignantly. When Derek raises an eyebrow, daring him to disagree, Stiles laughs. “Fine. I miss being doted over and complimented. It turns out doing good deeds makes you feel good about yourself.”

“Who knew?” Derek asks in mock incredulity.

“Whatever,” Stiles mumbles. “Come on, let’s finish this wall and get some cookies.”

*

Stiles is greedily scarfing down one of the caramel squares Mrs Davis made for them while Derek is out getting more paint.

“So how are you two getting along, dear?” Mrs Davis enquires with feigned disinterest.

“Good. The first room’s finished now.”

“Not the rooms!” she says like he’s being preposterous for even assuming that’s what she meant. “I mean you and Derek!”

“Oh,” Stiles appraises her but she just flaps her hands, gesturing for him to continue. “Better,” he says. “We’re talking instead of glaring now,” he jokes.

“Mm, I noticed you two were a bit… _snappy_  with each other.”

“We rub each other up the wrong way, I guess.” Stiles shrugs, taking a swig of his lemonade.

“Is that it?” Mrs Davis questions.

Stiles nods and furrows his brow, “What else would it be?”

Mrs Davis just makes a noncommittal noise and gives him a look like she’s suddenly not interested and has no insights into this whatsoever and Stiles  _knows_  that’s a lie. He’s a  _cop_ ; he picks up on these things.

“Come on, what?” he presses.

She turns back to him with a flourish, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin, “Well, you didn’t hear it from me but apparently, word on the street is; young Derek has a crush on you.”

Stiles drop his cake and turns to her with a wide-eyed stare. “What?” he splutters shrilly. “Pfft, that’s  _insane!_ Have you seen Derek?” He knew everyone had a ridiculous notion about how they’d make a great couple but he didn’t actually think they believed they  _liked_  each other.

“The other word on the street is that you have a crush on him too,” she adds offhandedly.

Stiles chokes on his lemonade, “Excuse me?!”

“Just what I heard!”

“From  _who?”_

“Oh you know,” she says, making an abortive gesture with her hand. “The girls at book club, Ralph, Henry’s niece and nephew,  _people_ ,” she finishes dismissively as though she hasn’t just dropped a bomb.

“But we fight all the time?” Stiles insists.

“Ah yes well, June has a theory about that,” Mrs Davis informs him.

“And what might that be?” he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

“She thinks you two might be…frustrated.” Stiles snaps his eyes open and Edith winks at him.

_This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening._

“I’m going to see if the paint’s dry,” he mumbles before darting out of the room.

*

By the time they finish all three rooms Stiles is doomed.

Derek is actually talking to him now and it turns out he’s hilarious. Go fucking figure. Stiles had been somewhat willing to ignore the devastating good looks and the little, shy –  _adorable_  – expressions Derek got sometimes. But now he knows he’s funny. And you know what, no. The game is officially over. Stiles has lost. He accepts defeat gracefully if it means he can kiss Derek’s stupid face.

When they’re cleaning up after finishing the last room Stiles decides to throw caution to the wind. “So have you heard the neighbourhood gossip?” he asks in what he hopes is a casual voice.

“No, what?” Derek asks distractedly, bunching up the old sheets they’d thrown on the floor to protect from the paint.

“Apparently we’d make a splendid couple.” He plays it off like he thinks that sounds hilarious as opposed to the way it makes his heart flutter – that’s totally not safe, he should probably get that checked out.

Derek stills, lifting his eyes to meet Stiles’. “Is that so?”

Stiles suddenly feels nervous under Derek’s gaze. “Mhm,” he answers shakily. “Crazy, right?”

“Right…” Derek says vaguely.

At that moment Stiles’ phone goes off and he has never been so glad to be called into the station in his life. “Uh, I gotta go.”

Derek nods faintly and then Stiles is bolting out of the room before he says anything else monumentally stupid.

*

Stiles can’t get the past weekend out of his head. Everything Mrs Davis heavily suggested would be ridiculous if he wasn’t ninety per cent certain Derek almost kissed him when they were fighting over the paintbrush. And he can’t ignore the way Derek was almost friendly to him after that; snarky and sarcastic, sure, but that’s Stiles’ favourite kind of friendly anyway.

Which is what leads Stiles to say with feigned nonchalance; “I think I’m gonna ask Derek out,” when he’s having dinner at Scott and Allison’s the following week.

“Who’s Derek again?” Lydia asks, splitting a dumpling between hers and Jackson’s plates.

“The really hot next-door-neighbour that Stiles has been feuding with for helping out around the neighbourhood without his permission,” Allison answers succinctly, flashing her dimples at Stiles when he glares at her.

“That’s the weirdest form of foreplay I’ve ever heard,” Jackson mumbles as Danny hides his smirk behind his beer.

“Well I think that’s great, buddy,” Scott announces loudly, ignoring Jackson’s eye roll.

“Thanks, Scotty,” Stiles grins before giving Jackson a haughty look of his own.

“What are you gonna say?” Allison asks, stealing a spring roll off Scott’s plate.

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “Will you go out with me?”

“Lame!” Danny calls and Stiles throws a balled up napkin at him.

“Well, you’re all in relationships! Give me advice!” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows it’s the wrong thing to say.

He’s barraged with a million and one different tips as they all talk over each other and argue about who has the best advice.

Scott blessedly steps in when Lydia starts talking about string quartets. “Stiles will say whatever he feels is right in the moment and Derek will say yes because he’d be an idiot not to,” he says with finality. “Now, next topic of conversation, please.”

Lydia glowers at Scott before shrugging and leaning back into Jackson, Allison and Danny are still smiling to themselves and Jackson looks like he could literally not give a shit.

Stiles nudges Scott’s shoulder with his own in silent thanks.

*

Stiles waits a couple of days before he wanders into Derek’s flower shop. To be exact, he waits until he and Derek have another pseudo-flirty banter session over the fence and he’s a little bit more clear in the way he thinks Derek feels.

The shop is empty except for the two of them. Derek’s at the counter, putting together flower arrangements when Stiles comes in.

He looks up when the bell jingles above the door and his lips curve up in what Stiles now realises is an involuntary smile that usually comes out when he’s around. It gives him a little bit more confidence in what he’s about to do.

“Afternoon, Deputy,” Derek nods.

“Derek,” Stiles greets, meandering over to the counter. “So listen, I’m in the market for some flowers.” He leans an elbow on the counter and tries for coy – he’s pretty sure he misses it by a mile but that’s neither here nor there.

“What’s the occasion?” Derek asks, setting aside the arrangement he just finished and giving Stiles his full attention.

“Well see, there’s this guy I thought I couldn’t stand but it turns out I might’ve actually mistaken unresolved sexual tension for hatred.” Stiles looks up from underneath his lashes with some trepidation.

But Derek’s eyes only widen before he gets this little twinkle of amusement that Stiles forcibly ignores, choosing to focus on the task at hand.  _Get Derek to date you and then you can make googly eyes at him all you want_ , he reminds himself.

“Sounds like quite a complicated situation,” Derek comments.

“It is,” Stiles hums in agreement. “So do you have any recommendations?”

“Well you could always go with roses,” Derek suggests mildly. “Then again you wouldn’t want to be cliché.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” he agrees.

Derek bites back a grin. “Or people seem to be a big fan of lilies but they tend to be associated with funerals and that’s not exactly the message you want to send.”

Stiles lets out a startled laugh, “Definitely not.”

“Peonies are nice too,” Derek adds. “Or you could just skip the flowers and just ask him out.”

They lock eyes and Stiles raises an eyebrow, a silent “ _Please say you know what I’m talking about because I’m about to blurt it out any minute and I don’t want this to be awkward.”_ Derek simply nods, his self-satisfied grin still firmly in place.

“Go out with me tonight,” Stiles says.

Derek heaves a put-upon sigh, “If you say so.”

Stiles grins, “I do.”

“I close up at six.”

“My place then? Seven-thirty?”

“You’re going to cook?” Derek asks sceptically.

“I’m a fully functioning adult, I’ll have you know,” Stiles replies haughtily.

Derek eyes him suspiciously before chuckling, “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

“You need directions?” Stiles teases.

“I think I’ll be okay,” Derek smirks.

“If you say so!” Stiles calls as he heads out the door, repeating Derek’s earlier words.

He has a  _date_. Fuck,  _he has a date!_ He has to  _cook_. Oh god, he needs help.

*

“Remind me again why  _I’m_  cooking for you?” Allison asks. “Your hands work just fine, Stiles.”

“You’re a better cook than me!” he exclaims before resuming biting his nails and watching her every move with frantic eyes.

Allison rolls her eyes but continues chopping vegetables.

“What am I making again?” he asks, trying to remember the spiel in his head in case Derek asks.

“ _You_  are making Croatian Stuffed French Beansrs,” she replies coolly.

“What the hell is that?!” Stiles flails, jumping out of his seat and upending the stool. “I’m never gonna remember how to pronounce that! And what if he’s a fussy eater? Oh god, I never asked if Derek’s a fussy eater! Or he could be a vegetarian! Oh my god, I’m just gonna cancel,” he exclaims, reaching for the phone.

Allison gets her vice-like grip around his arm and Stiles lets out a yelp – that girl is fucking strong. “Don’t even think about it, Stilinski,” she warns. “You are  _not_  cancelling this date and you are not allowed to freak out before it even begins.”

Stiles deflates and Allison lets go of his wrist so he can brace his hands on the table. “You’re right,” he sighs. “You’re right, sorry.”

Allison smiles at him tenderly – a far cry from the death glare she was giving him thirty seconds before; she’s been spending too much time with Lydia. “It’ll be fine, Stiles,” she assures him as she shoves the vegetable to the side and starts measuring flour. It looks like she’s starting over.  _Why is she starting over?_

“What are you doing?” he asks warily.

“Making pizza,” she answers. “Everyone likes pizza and you know how to pronounce it,” she adds with a smirk.

Stiles huffs, “Fine. But make it fancy pizza like the ones in that authentic Italian restaurant!”

Allison stops what she’s doing and scowls at him, “Go take a shower before I chop your hand of with a carving knife.”

Stiles’ eyes widen and he makes soldier’s salute, “Yes, ma’am!” he exclaims before bounding out of the room.

*

Stiles shoves Allison out the back door at 7:15 when she’s finished cooking and decided to tease him instead.

“Stiles, okay,  _okay!”_  she laughs as he keeps ushering her to the door. “Would you relax? Everything’s going to be fine,” she promises.

“Oh what would you know?” he retorts. “You found your true love at sixteen, the rest of us have to work a little harder,” he adds with a huff.

Allison erupts into another fit of laughter and Stiles rolls his eyes. Thankfully though, she starts walking  _with_  Stiles instead of continually trying to turn back around like she had been a moment ago. He finally gets her to the door when she slams her hand onto the doorframe so he can’t close it in her face. “Stiles, in all seriousness, good luck,” she smiles warmly and some of tension leaves his shoulders.

“Thanks,” he replies sincerely.

Allison nods before she starts stifling her laugh again. Oh god, what now?

Stiles gives her an unimpressed look as she shakes her head and a little giggle escapes. “Let me know how it goes! Don’t forget the garlic bread!” she calls and finally,  _finally_ , she leaves.

Stiles has seven minutes of running around his house in sheer panic before there’s a knock at the front door. He drops the fork he’d been straightening and dashes to the hall, managing to bang his hip off the table.

“ _Motherfucker_ ,” he curses loudly, bent double and clutching his hip. He realises belatedly that Derek probably heard all that and feels his face flush. He takes a minute to shake it off and opens the door, plastering a smile on his face. “Hi.”

“Hi.” If the small smirk Derek’s trying to hide is anything to go by, he  _definitely_  heard what just happened. Wonderful.

Stiles swallows down his embarrassment and shows Derek in, leading him into the kitchen where Allison had, thankfully, cleaned up everything before she left.

“Have a seat.” Stiles gestures to the set table, all faux confidence. “Dinner’s just about ready.”

“What are we having?” Derek asks politely, watching Stiles with an amused expression.

“Pizza,” he answers, sliding the tray out of the oven. “It’s not the most complex but hey, you can’t go wrong with pizza, right?”

Derek hums an acknowledgement, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, which makes Stiles worry for a second that Derek is actually the only human being on the planet that doesn’t eat pizza.

Still, he soldiers on, serving up their food and sitting down. Derek’s still wearing the exact same amused expression he’s had since Stiles opened the door and okay, Stiles knows causing himself bodily harm is usually a hoot for whoever else witnesses it but it’s been like five minutes.

“What?” he asks and Derek shakes his head, like he’s doing his damnedest not to laugh.

Derek clears his throat audibly and takes a drink of water, “Why was there a girl sneaking out of your house fifteen minutes ago?”

Stiles freezes and slowly looks up from his food. Derek’s given up all pretences of keeping a straight face and is just full on grinning knowingly and Stiles is going to kill Allison.

“Uh, she’s a friend of mine,” he answers. “My best friend’s girlfriend to be exact. She was just dropping something off.”

Derek nods like he agrees with him but one look at his face and Stiles knows he doesn’t. “Did you really cook this?” he asks after a few minutes.

Stiles scoffs, “Yes!”

Derek raises his eyebrows at him.

Crap. “No,” Stiles sighs, slumping in his chair. “But I can cook!” he hastens to add. “I was just nervous and knowing me, I’d probably end up setting my shirt on fire.”

He waits for Derek’s reaction; the sarcastic, taunting comment. But it never comes. “It’s okay,” Derek chuckles instead. “You can tell her she did a really good job.”

Stiles exhales in relief and finally allows himself to laugh at the situation because of course Derek would push him until he found out the truth. He’s been doing that since they met.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” Derek questions.

“She was supposed to sneak out the back,” Stiles grumbles in response.

“And what? You expected her to hop a few garden fences and break into a couple of houses to get back to her car out front?” he laughs, his eyes crinkling adorably. “I thought cops are supposed to be good at stealth?”

“Hey, I’m plenty stealthy!” Stiles protests. “And so is Allison, for that matter. I told you, I was nervous,” he adds a little reluctantly.

Derek’s smile softens and Stiles does  _not get_  butterflies in his stomach.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “It was a lot easier to ignore all the things I liked about you when I was arguing with you about rose bushes.”

Derek ducks his head to hide his grin and takes another bite of his food, “It  _was_  pretty easy to overlook some things in favour of arguing.”

This piques Stiles’ interest. Derek hasn’t been exactly forthcoming in his own intents, Stiles’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. “What kind of things?”

Derek shrugs and dare Stiles say it, he almost looks  _bashful_. “Just…things,” he answers simply.

“Uh huh,” Stiles replies sceptically with a raised eyebrow.

Derek grins down at his food again and ugh seriously; he has to stop doing that before Stiles’ brain melts out of his ear. It’s the complete opposite of the scowl Derek’s usually sporting, that’s for sure.

The rest of dinner is mostly painless after that. Stiles doesn’t drink too much wine or get even slightly tipsy or drop any of the glorious chocolate cake that Danny graciously made on his shirt. Derek also doesn’t look like he’s regretting his decision to agree to a date which is always a plus.

Eventually they migrate to the living room and Stiles refrains from saying, “Shall we take this to the couch?” and embarrassing the hell out of himself so all in all he’s thinking this is actually going well.

“So can I ask you something?” Derek asks once he’s settled comfortably on the couch. They’re angled towards each other but not touching and Stiles knows if he wanted to, he could stretch his arm across the back of the couch like Derek is and maybe they could hold hands…But he can’t promise that handholding won’t lead to skipping the conversation and going straight to him jumping into Derek’s lap. So instead he keeps his hands to himself and nods for Derek to continue, “Go for it.”

“I know you said you got so annoyed about me helping out around the neighbourhood because you were jealous-“

“I think you’ll find  _you_  said that,” Stiles disagrees with a catty grin.

“Whatever,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. “I want to know why you even help out in the first place.”

Stiles pauses for a minute as he thinks about his answer, “I like feeling useful I guess. I like to know I’m helping people which, I know, doesn’t always correlate with my personality because I can still be kind of an asshole but it’s pretty easy to get addicted to gratitude.”

“Interesting way of putting it,” Derek replies.

“But true,” he counters. “Tell me something not gardening related,” Stiles requests and Derek chuckles.

He appears to be contemplating his answer for a second before his gaze returns to Stiles. “I used to live in San Francisco; my two sisters still live there.”

“How old are they?”

“One older, one younger,” Derek answers. “Cora’s your age and Laura’s a year older than me.”

“Do they miss you?” Stiles smiles.

“I think mostly they miss not having easy access to harassing me.” Derek’s smile is fond but wistful and Stiles can’t imagine what it’s like to leave your whole family and move somewhere else all on your own. Well he can but he and Scott went to the same college so it doesn’t really count.

“Why’d you leave in the first place?” he asks, curiosity getting the better of him. And then he realises that answer could potentially be very personal and he really thought his brain-to-mouth filter had improved. “I’m sorry- you don’t have to-“

Derek just shakes his head, “It’s fine. The reason isn’t really a big deal. I finally got enough money together to open my own business and the place in town had the cheapest rent.”

“And what about the cost of moving to a whole other town?”

“I guess I needed a change too,” Derek admits. “Ever since my parents died, I’ve just been following Laura’s lead. I wanted to do something for myself.”

Stiles is surprised by the confession but tries not to show it. He’s seen glimpses, heard little tidbids of Derek’s past but Derek’s never really struck him as an open or trusting person so Stiles hasn’t pushed. Hell they haven’t even had a meaningful conversation that doesn’t revolve around gardening until tonight.

But it’s good. That Derek’s starting to trust him now. Trusting him with these little pieces of information, like he maybe wants Stiles to file them away until he’s collected all the parts so Derek never has to explain his life story outright. Well, Stiles has found over the years he’s pretty good at filing away the small details, he figures this won’t be much of a stretch.

Thinking of his own disdain for lingering conversations about his mother, he shifts the focus from Derek’s past and family, moving onto something more light-hearted. Derek gives him a grateful smile and seems more than willing to participate in more teasing banter.

It’s light and it’s easy but it’s real.

It feels like the prelude to more meaningful conversations and more glasses of wine and seating arrangements more tangled than they are currently.

It’s enough for now.

*

Stiles wakes up with his face smushed against soft cotton that feels decidedly more solid than his pillow. He blinks a few times and realises he’s tucked against Derek’s chest, half lying on his lap. Derek stretches underneath him and Stiles reluctantly sits up, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

He gives Derek a sleepy smile when their eyes meet and stifles a yawn, “Well that ended up being a hell of a lot more innocent than I’d planned.”

Derek huffs a laugh and Stiles is pretty sure he’s not really awake yet. “What did you have planned?” he asks, trying for coy and completely missing it with the adorable expression he’s wearing and the sticky-out hair.

“It certainly involved less clothes,” Stiles comments. “The cuddling was supposed to come  _afterward.”_

Derek snorts and Stiles pushes himself off the couch, “Breakfast?”

Derek hums his agreement, massaging at his neck.

Stiles shuffles to the kitchen, making toast and coffee on autopilot. Honestly between his exhaustion and the way his mind is reeling over the fact that Derek stayed –  _he stayed_  and he doesn’t want to leave yet – Stiles isn’t sure he’s fully functioning right now.

He returns to the couch, flopping down next to Derek after he sets the coffee and plates on the coffee table. This time he leans into Derek’s space unashamedly as he munches on his toast.

“Doin’ anything today?” Derek asks conversationally.

“Dinner with my dad later; Sunday tradition,” he mumbles around another bite of toast. “What about you?”

“Nothing really, shop’s closed on Sunday.”

Stiles eyes him speculatively for a second. Derek shrugs unconcernedly but underneath it all, he thinks he sees disappointment. It’s what makes him blurt out unthinkingly, “You can come with, if you want.”

Derek freezes, toast halfway to his mouth.

“I mean,” he flails. “It’s not a big deal. My best friend, Scott, and his mom and girlfriend are coming too and I know that is totally making it worse ‘cause it sounds like I’m trying to bring you home to my family and we’ve only been on one date. But my dad doesn’t have to know, I can just say you’re my friend. I mean-“ he sighs frustratedly at himself. “If you have nothing else to do and you maybe want to make some more friends here, you could come. If you wanted to.”

Derek’s quiet for a long time before he nods, “Okay.”

Stiles can’t believe his ears after his disaster of an explanation, “Okay?”

“ _Okay,”_  Derek insists, rolling his eyes and picking up his toast again.

Stiles does _not_  grin smugly to himself for the rest of the morning.

*

Derek leaves after breakfast and Stiles watches from his window as he gets ambushed by about five old ladies. He only feels a little bit guilty about laughing about it.

Stiles ignores the texts from Allison, Scott and Lydia asking him how the date went and instead texts his dad and tells him he’s bringing a friend to dinner.

His dad texts back a simple, “ _The more the merrier!”_

He spends the three or four hours before he’s due to meet Derek again getting organised. He cleans up after last night, shoving all the cutlery into the dishwasher and giving the kitchen table a quick swipe with a cloth. His house is still pretty spotless from when he stress-cleaned it yesterday before Derek came over so he doesn’t bother doing any more than that.

He showers then, taking his time and letting the hot water relax his muscles from the awkward angle he slept in last night. He’s dressed and ready to go an hour and half before he needs to be so he goes through the couple of case files he’s working on right now – completely unsurprisingly, sleepy suburban towns don’t have many high profile, dangerous crimes but still, work is work.

Eventually Derek knocks on his door again and he puts the files away before grabbing his keys and phone.

“Does your dad know I’m coming?” Derek asks as they walk to Stiles’ jeep.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” Stiles smiles reassuringly before climbing into the driver’s seat. After a brief moment of hesitation, Derek does the same.

*

Stiles leads the way into his dad’s house with an unconcerned grin thrown in Derek’s direction. The truth is he’s nervous as hell. He’s not bringing Derek here as his boyfriend or to get his dad’s approval, he really does want Derek to make more friends because Stiles is starting to think he’s more lonely than he lets on. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still technically taking the guy he really likes home to meet his family.

They make their way to the kitchen and Stiles gives Derek’s hand a quick squeeze before he lets go and walks through the door. Melissa and his dad are at the counter and she’s watching him like a hawk as he pours oil into the pan, batting his hand away when he tries to put in too much – Stiles is so glad they started dating when he and Scott went to college; she’s much more capable at handling his diet.

Scott and Allison are sitting at the table, peeling potatoes and engaged in a game of footsie if the distracted grin on Scott’s face and the faint blush on Allison’s cheeks are anything to go by. They look up when Stiles comes in, smiling naturally before their eyes land on Derek.

Scott chokes on nothing and Allison winks at Stiles surreptitiously as she rubs her boyfriend’s back soothingly. Stiles just glares at her. The commotion causes John and Melissa to turn around, their expressions fading into pleased smiles when they see him.

“Hey kid,” John smiles, moving away from Melissa and coming closer. “This your friend?”

“Uh yeah, dad this is Derek. My next-door neighbour.” He says the last part with a pointed look at Scott and Allison that tells them to keep their mouths  _shut_.

Derek and his dad shake hands and exchange awkward pleasantries and then Melissa’s nudging John out of the way and introducing herself and  _eventually_ , they go back to cooking and let Stiles and Derek sit with Scott and Allison.

“So I take it the date went well then?” Allison asks casually.

“Don’t even,” Stiles says. “We need to have a conversation about your ability to be inconspicuous.”

Allison looks confused and Stiles lowers his voice so they won’t’ be overheard, begrudgingly admitting, “Derek saw you leave last night.”

Allison lets out a bark of laughter which she quickly covers up when the adults look over. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that beforehand, given that your date lives next door and all that,” she smirks as a traitorous giggle escapes from Scott.

Stiles glares at him and then turns to see Derek holding back a grin as well. “I hate you all,” he mutters.

“Oh who cares?” Allison says blithely. “The date  _did_  go well, right?” She looks at both of them for confirmation, “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Derek nods shyly and Stiles feels his heart doing flip flops just looking at him. He looks back over at Scott and Allison’s twin grins, rolling his eyes. “Yes, it did. But Derek’s here because he doesn’t know many people in the area, though why I thought to introduce him to you ingrates is beyond me.”

Scott doesn’t miss a beat, “Because you love us,” he responds confidently and Stiles can’t even pretend that’s not true. “So the cake-stealer isn’t so bad after all, Stiles?”

Derek laughs and immediately tries to pretend that he didn’t and Stiles would be mad if he didn’t like hearing that noise so much. Instead he just throws potato peels at Scott and wills himself to stop blushing.

*

Dinner is actually really enjoyable. His dad asks Derek questions purely out of interest rather than to interrogate him. Yet no one can seem to restrain themselves from making quips about their initially sour relationship. Stiles is never complaining to anyone ever again because all it’s doing is biting him in the ass now.

John asks Derek about his family and handles him with the delicacy of anyone who knows the pain of losing someone when he notices Derek’s hesitation. Sometimes Stiles really loves his dad.

They chat a little bit about Derek living in San Francisco and Stiles watches him relax in increments as he talks about his sisters and his friends.

“Do you miss them?” the sheriff asks after Derek regales them with a story of his sisters. It’s the converse of what Stiles asked him last night and he’s worried it might make Derek uncomfortable but Derek just smiles a little longingly and nods. “Yeah, I mean me and my sisters have been friends with Erica, Isaac and Boyd for years. Boyd and I went to school together and Isaac and I worked together. They used to have dinner at mine and my sisters’ place every night. It’s weird not seeing them every day,” he finishes with a half-hearted shrug.

Stiles sees Scott and Allison immediately nod in understanding and he thinks of their own friend group. They all went to school together, he and Danny work together and often end up working with Jackson since he’s one of the best lawyers in town. With the way everyone’s coupled off and who’s best friends with who, they see each other almost every day. It’s bizarre to imagine it not being like that.

He can’t help but reach out under the table and pat Derek’s hand with his own just for a second. Derek shoots him a smile as the conversation shifts to the irony that is Scott and Stiles following in their parents footsteps and doing the exact same jobs as them – it’s John and Melissa’s favourite topic of discussion.

*

They’re idling on either side of the fence that divides their houses after returning from Stiles’ dad’s house when Derek says it.

“I realised something,” he murmurs and Stiles freaks out just a tad because that could be anything. He could’ve realised he hates Stiles and he doesn’t want to see him anymore or he could’ve realised the meaning of the universe. The possibilities are endless.

“Oh?” Stiles says, willing his voice to remain steady.

“We haven’t kissed yet.”

 _Oh_.

“I mean you brought me home to your  _dad_ ,” Derek continues playfully. “But we haven’t kissed yet. I think we’re jumping the gun a bit.”

Stiles grins, unconsciously leaning a little bit more over the fence and into Derek’s space. Derek catches his chin between his forefinger and thumb, a smile playing on his lips. He’s about to lean in when Stiles squeezes his bicep and he pauses.

“You really wanna do this here?” Stiles whispers, gesturing to their empty streets.

“Nobody’s watching,” Derek shrugs.

“They’re  _always_  watching,” he counters.

“They’re in bed by now, Stiles,” Derek responds reasonably.

“How can you be sure though?”

Derek huffs and cups Stiles’ face before crushing their lips together. He pulls back enough just to mumble, “Better give them a show then,” and then he’s diving right back in. Stiles makes a noise against his lips before finally gaining control of his limbs again and bringing arms up to wrap around Derek’s neck, curling his hands into Derek’s hair and using it to pull him closer.

Derek smirks against his lips and ugh that jackass knows exactly what he’s doing and Stiles doesn’t even care because this is the best kiss he’s ever had bar  _none_.

Derek releases him with a cocky grin that doesn’t really have the desired effect given he’s breathless and Stiles is pretty sure the tips of his ears are pink.

So Stiles leans in and pecks his lips again before walking backwards towards his door. “Goodnight Derek,” he calls in a singsong voice because two can play at that game, asshole.

Derek just laughs, shaking his head as he turns to head inside.

 _Oh yeah, it is so on,_  Stiles thinks to himself with a grin.

*

Stiles is shoved up against the door the second it’s closed and Derek’s on him in an instant.

“Hi,” he breathes, grinning as his hands tighten on Derek’s shoulders.

“Hi,” Derek mumbles before kissing him fiercely, pushing at his t-shirt until his hands connects with the warm skin of Stiles’ hips.

It’s been two weeks. They’ve been on two more dates, had brief conversations layered with innuendos when passing by each other as they head to and from work. But mostly they’ve been too busy to really do  _this_.

It’s mostly Stiles’ fault. Actually it’s totally Stiles’ fault and he takes full responsibility for the fucking jackass that robbed the jewellery store in town because he kept him from Derek and from this and if that doesn’t spell criminal, Stiles doesn’t know what does.

When Derek’s lips connect with the hinge of his jaw Stiles makes a noise that he’d honestly be embarrassed about in any other situation. Right now though, it just makes him push forward and try to shove the leather jacket off Derek’s shoulders. Derek more or less gets the message, letting go of Stiles’ hips long enough to throw it on floor behind him.

“ _Upstairs,”_  Stiles just about manages to stammer out before Derek’s mouth connects with his again.

They basically stumble up the stairs – Stiles doesn’t even know how his legs are working right now, honestly – getting side-tracked midway when Stiles loses patience with the way Derek keeps trying to kiss his neck from behind and he just ends up pushing Derek against the wall for a minute so they can make out a little bit.

About ten million eons later, they make it to Stiles’ bed and y’know Stiles loves his bed a lot but he thinks he loves it even more when Derek’s lying on top of him, their bodies pretty much touching all the way to their toes, and he’s pressing down against him with just enough pressure that he feels it  _everywhere_. It’s dizzying.

He’s had his fair share of awkward sex before. He’s also had his fair share of intense sex before. This though, it’s not either of those things. It’s…fun.

He knows objectively sex is supposed to be fun. It’s what Scott, Danny and Lydia always tell him but he always figured that was a couple thing, you know? Like first it had to be awkward and then you level up to intense and finally you reach the stage where you’re so comfortable with each other, it’s just fun the way it’s supposed to be when there’s complete trust and it’s more perfect than all that other stuff ever was.

He never thought he’d get to have this with Derek first time round.

He’s still Stiles though, so there are plenty of potential awkward moments; like when he gets trapped in his t-shirt after he tries to take it off too quickly. In another situation, Stiles would’ve been embarrassed and would’ve probably been uncomfortable for the next few minutes until he was inevitably distracted. But this time…Derek  _laughs_  and helpfully rids Stiles of shirt and he’s so unbelievably awed by the look on Derek’s face that as soon as the shirt’s out of the way he just surges up and pulls him back into another heated kiss.

And then there’s the moment where Stiles rolls them over a little bit too enthusiastically and Derek ends up knocking the lamp off the nightstand and sending it flying across the room. They both freeze for a second before they break down,  laughing huffy breaths into each other’s mouths and Stiles needs a good minute before he can even regain his composure – it helps when Derek moves to kiss down his neck, he’s not gonna lie.

The point is; this could’ve been awkward. It could’ve been a lot of things. He  _expected_  it to be a lot of things. He just didn’t think it would work like this. Because it feels familiar; like they’ve done this a million times before. As far as Stiles’ brain is concerned, this could be a quickie before work or a lazy Saturday where they have all the time in the world or “I missed you” sex – to be honest, it kind of is “I missed you” sex but still.

Whatever it is, it’s the only thing Stiles wants right now.

It’s about ten minutes after they’ve finished round three where they’re both lying side by side, after they’ve finally caught their breath and Stiles has half-heartedly cleaned them off with a hand towel, when he looks over and meets Derek’s gaze with a dazed grin, lifting a hand. “Good job, dude.”

Derek snorts but lifts his hand and accepts the high five, “You too,” he mumbles.

Stiles smiles to himself and rolls over, curling into Derek’s side. Only mere seconds have passed when he feels his eyes drooping shut as Derek starts trailing his fingers up and down Stiles’ spine. It’s the most blissed out Stiles has felt  _ever_.

And of course it’s ruined by a friggin’ knock at the front door.

Stiles groans and shoves his face into the crook of Derek’s neck, “Make it go’way.”

When Derek doesn’t respond, Stiles lifts his head to see he’s more or less asleep. Ugh. Lucky bastard. He heaves a long-suffering sigh and crawls out of bed when the knocking doesn’t cease. He finds his pyjama pants discarded on the floor and pulls them on, ambling down the stairs.

He opens the door to see Mrs Cooper trying to peer through the peephole from outside. “Oh!” she straightens in surprise and her eyes seem to take in Stiles’ current dishevelled state. It’s at about this point that Stiles realises he neglected to put a shirt on and he has a hickey on his hip and stubble burn all over his chest – and neck and face too probably. Welp.

“What can I do for you, Mrs Cooper?” he asks, choosing to ignore the embarrassment he knows is flushing his face.

“I just happened to notice that Derek stopped by last night,” she says casually, in a pretty not-casual voice if he does say so himself.

“He did,” Stiles answers.

“I never noticed him leaving,” she comments and oh god, did she just waggle her eyebrows at him?

“Oh yeah he left a little late-“

“Stiles?”

And there goes that excuse. Derek comes to a stop behind him – wearing a pair of  _Stiles’_  sweats, he notes, well at least he’s dressed – and gapes a little.

“Well.” Mrs Cooper positively beams, clapping her hands together. “I best be on my way.”

She turns on her heels and shuffles down the walkway. Just as Stiles is closing the door he hears her hiss, “ _He spent the night_!” and he has no doubt there’s a congregation of grannies at the end of his driveway now.

Stiles laughs as he slumps against the closed door, “Guess that cat’s out of the bag.”

Derek nods faintly before tugging on his hand, trying to pull him back upstairs.

Stiles raises his eyebrows at him and Derek shrugs, “Might as well live up to expectations.”

Stiles barks out another laugh and stumbles back into to Derek’s arms, kissing him soundly. Derek’s hands curl around his hips, drifting lower as they circle his thighs and Stiles takes the incentive to jump up and wrap his legs around Derek’s waist.

“Planning on lifting me up the stairs, were ya?” he asks.

“Was thinkin’ ‘bout it,” Derek mumbles against his lips.

Stiles scoffs and pulls back just enough to look Derek in the eyes, “You make us fall down the stairs,  _you’re_  explaining what happened to us to Mrs McCall.”

Derek bites on his lower lip, “Deal.”

*

“Stiles?”

“Hmm?” Stiles answers groggily from where he’s star-fished out on top of Derek.

There’s silence for a few more minutes and Stiles would call him on it but he knows Derek’ll get there in the end. Derek’s hand comes up and winds around his back when the words are murmured so quietly, Stiles isn’t sure if he’s misheard. “I like you.”

He lifts his head from where it’d been pillowed on Derek’s chest and cracks open an eye. Derek’s looking at him with a guarded expression.

“Well I should hope so,” Stiles responds slowly. “Otherwise what we did last night is giving me some mixed messages.”

(Stiles had been on the late shift and was about ready to collapse when he got home and found Derek in his bed. It was a really great present.)

Derek rolls his eyes but his ears go pink like they always do when he’s embarrassed. “I just- I don’t like very many people because people are really annoying but I like you and I like being with you and I like that you’re here and I just wanted you to know.”

Stiles doesn’t think there was pause in that entire confession and he’d joke about it if Derek wasn’t looking at him with such an open and vulnerable look.

“I like you too,” he says gently, lips curling up in a lopsided smile. “A lot, Derek. Like  _a lot_ ,” he emphasises, grinding his hips down.

Derek laughs and flips them over easily, crowding Stiles into the pillows. “I get it,” he answers, leaning down for a kiss.

“Mm later,” Stiles mumbles against his lips. “Nap first.”

“You started it!” Derek says indignantly.

“I know but we have the whole day,” he reasons. “And there’s no better way to start my morning than by being told I can go back to sleep.”

“I can think of a few better ways,” Derek mutters mutinously.

“Like I said, we have the  _whole day_ ,” Stiles replies suggestively. “I need my beauty sleep if you want me to have any energy.”

Derek looks over his face considerably before shaking his head, “Doesn’t seem to be working.”

Stiles digs his fingers into Derek’s ribs and he rears back instantly. “Asshole,” Stiles accuses around a laugh. “Wake me in ten minutes.”

Derek nods and settles into his place on top of Stiles, letting his head rest on the pillow next to Stiles’ face. Stiles turns his head and their noses touch, their lips brush once, twice, and then he’s falling back to sleep to the sight of Derek’s contented smile.

Yeah, he likes him, alright.

*

The next few weeks are pretty much the best weeks of Stiles’ life. He learns a little bit more and falls a little bit harder for Derek every day. Things slow down at work so he and Derek actually get to see each other, they’re only just discovering the benefits of living so close as far as booty calls are concerned – neighbours with knowing looks notwithstanding – and Derek seems to really get along with Stiles’ friends; Scott especially which is a blessing, really.

He’s patrolling the good ol’ streets of Beacon Hills – and by patrolling he means; on his way to get a slushie – when a pretty brunette stops him.

“Excuse me, officer,” she says. Stiles doesn’t recognise her and she looks completely lost so he guesses she’s from out of town. “Could you tell me where The Best of Buds is?”

Stiles grins to himself at the stupid pun that is the name Derek’s flower shop. It’s the complete antithesis to Derek himself which makes it even more hilarious.

“Yeah, just walk to the end of the street and turn left. It’s the third building on the right, you can’t miss it,” he assures with a smile.

She relaxes and gives him a grateful smile, “Thanks, my brother is horrendous with directions.”

“You’re Derek’s sister?” he asks. Come to think of it, they do kind of look alike and Derek said he had a sister about Stiles’ age. Stiles wracks his brain, trying to remember the pictures in Derek’s living room. He’s almost positive this is Cora.

She blinks in surprise before nodding, “Yeah, I’m Cora.” Point for Stiles. “You know my brother?”

Stiles feels himself smirking and forces himself to stop. She’s Derek’s  _sister_. “You could say that,” he concedes. At her suspicious look, he chuckles, “I’m his next-door neighbour.”

Recognition colours her features and she gives him a wicked grin. “So  _you’re_  Stiles!” she exclaims.

Uh oh.

“Yes?” he says uncertainly.

Cora shakes her head and laughs, a move very reminiscent of Derek. “Nice to meet you. I’ll make sure to tell Derek you said hi,” she assures him and did she just- she did. She just winked at him.

Stiles is pretty sure she’s just been added to the list of women who put the fear of god into him.

*

Later that night Derek shows up on Stiles’ doorstep with a conflicted expression and immediately he knows whatever Derek has to tell him isn’t good. Stiles leads them into the living room and takes a seat on the couch. Derek paces in front of him.

“So your sister’s in town,” Stiles ventures because one of them has to say something.

Derek stops walking and looks at him with a genuine smile. It calms him down just a bit.

“Yeah, she really likes you,” he says sincerely. But all it does is make Derek seem more pained about whatever the hell’s bothering him.

“That’s good, right?” Stiles asks warily and Derek nods, resuming his pacing. “Could you stop wearing a hole in my floor? You’re freaking me out.”

“Sorry,” Derek sighs before sitting next to him. “Cora and Laura didn’t come here for a casual visit.”

“Laura’s here too?” he asks distractedly, he’s stalling really.

Derek nods again before continuing, “There was a flower shop I worked at back in San Francisco, it’s where I learned pretty much everything I know.”

“I know,” Stiles interrupts. “You told me.”

Derek smiles like he’s pleased Stiles remembered. “The owner died the other day, his wife wants me to take over the shop.”

“That’s great,” Stiles finds himself saying. “I mean, not that your boss passed away but that they want to give you the shop. It would mean better business for you, right?”

“But it would mean leaving here.” Derek gives him another pained expression like he wants Stiles to make the decision for him.

“Yeah,” he agrees dumbly before getting a better hold of himself. “Derek, if you’re thinking of staying here for me, you’re an idiot. You can have your dream job and it’s already set up for you in a place where all your family and friends are.”

Derek nods like what Stiles is saying makes sense – because it does – but then their eyes meet again and Derek’s giving him a dejected puppy look that would rival Scott. “I don’t want to give up on this yet,” he counters quietly.

And Stiles- Stiles is not going to cry. Okay? It’s stupid to cry over something like this. They’ve only been together a few weeks. Who says it would’ve even worked out in the long run anyway?

“Neither do I,” he admits and the way Derek’s whole expression lights up with hope makes what he’s about to say next even worse. “But long distance only works when both parties know that distance will inevitably end and I don’t think that applies here.”

Derek’s face falls but he gives a resigned nod, “I’m going back with my sisters on Monday…”

Stiles puts a hand on Derek’s cheek, forcing him to look up and meet his gaze. “Then you better kiss me,” he says lightly.

The last thing he sees is Derek’s brief smile before he falls against him and their lips slot together and his eyes fall shut.

He can pretend for a while.

*

Derek leaves Monday like he said he would. Stiles holds him a little bit too tight and their kiss is a little bit too lingering considering they’ve only been together six weeks but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“We’ll stay in touch,” Derek promises as he sisters shoot Stiles sympathetic smiles. Stiles has gotten to know them in the last couple of days and he can say without doubt that he adores them. They’re sarcastic as hell and tease Derek mercilessly but they genuinely love their brother and Stiles can tell after being around them for five minutes that they’d do anything for him.

They seem to really get along with Stiles too which is pretty bittersweet, they look sincerely apologetic for whisking Derek away again.

Stiles can’t help it when he takes another step forward and pulls Derek in for a final kiss. Derek melts against him, winding his arms tightly around Stiles’ waist like he doesn’t want to let go. He pulls back with the smallest of smiles, pecking Stiles’ lips once before letting go.

“Call me when you get there,” Stiles requests and Derek promises he will before climbing into his car and driving off, followed a moment later by the moving van.

Stiles stays standing outside his house a little listlessly for a while longer, like his brain is trying to process that Derek was actually real and not some six-week long fever dream.

It isn’t until Mrs Davis is gently tugging at his arm that he snaps out of it. She smiles sadly at him and hands him a Tupperware box full of her infamous red velvet sandwich cookies. He’s about to thank her when she just shakes her head, giving him another smile before she makes her way across the street again.

Stiles goes inside, throws on the hoodie Derek left there last week, wraps himself up in his blanket and purges his feelings by eating the entire tub.

He’ll feel pathetic about it in the morning.

*

The next few weeks are pure and utter torture.

Derek keeps his promise and calls Stiles almost every night. The calls last for hours and Stiles falls asleep listening to his voice more often than not.

Their conversations are made up of little tidbids about their day interwoven with quiet confessions, whispered in the darkness. Mostly it’s just every type of variation of “I miss you,” they can think to say.

Stiles is mostly just going through the motions of the days; get up, go to work, come home, eat dinner, go for a run or hang out with friends, call Derek. Repeat. He keeps busy as much as he can so he doesn’t have to think about it all.

It’s been three weeks when his dad confronts him.

Stiles is having lunch with him in his office, picking dejectedly at his food.

“Alright, out with it,” his dad demands. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Stiles insists a little bit too defensively and his father sighs.

“Scott told me about Derek.” Stiles is about to protest when the Sheriff holds his hands up. “Not that I couldn’t have figured that out for myself. Which I did, by the way. I could tell you were gone on that guy the minute you stormed into my office three and a half months ago, ranting about some asshole who was stealing your business with the old folks.”

Stiles huffs a laugh and sets down his food. “I miss him,” he says miserably.

“You know you could always visit each other on the weekends,” John suggests. “Or work something else out. You didn’t have to give up as easily as you did,” he adds gently.

Stiles shakes his head and scrubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “And what happens when I miss a weekend one week because I have to work? Or he forgets to return a phone call? Or I forget to answer a text? What happens is we completely cut each other out of our lives like none of this ever happened and I don’t want that. It’s better this way,” he says determinedly, with finality, trying to convince himself more than his dad.

*

About six weeks after he leaves, Derek stops calling and he doesn’t answer when Stiles calls him.  _It’s what you expected_ , Stiles reminds himself when he starts to feel upset.

He compensates by throwing himself into his work, picking up everyone’s extra shifts and spending long evenings with his dad working on cases over the kitchen table. Whenever he’s not at work, he’s at Scott and Allison’s, or Lydia and Jackson’s, or Danny and Ethan’s. Basically anywhere that’s not home.

It’s a Thursday and he has the day off; a rarity because he usually ever only has weekends off - especially lately since he’s been bribing Amy who makes the rosters. Everyone he knows is at work which is precisely why he  _doesn’t_  like having days off during the week. He shakes it off and shrugs on his running shorts and a t-shirt, slipping into his sneakers and heading out the door. He hasn’t been on a run in a while. Maybe it’ll do him good.

When he’s running through the neighbourhood he notices something strange. He’s willing to ignore it when he sees one yard clearly freshly mown. But as he keeps going, he sees new posies planted in the Parkes’ hanging flower baskets, a neatly trimmed hedge enclosing Mrs Davis’ yard and a fucking fountain by Mrs Addlington’s porch swing.

One’s an incident and two he figures, could be a coincidence but three? Three is definitely a pattern. And four…he doesn’t even know what four is. 

Reflexively, he looks back to Derek’s house only to see that the “For Sale” sign is gone again. Did another douchebag seriously move onto this street and take his business  _again?_

So Stiles hasn’t really been helping out lately; he’s _emotionally healing_ , okay? And doing all the stuff around the neighbourhood just reminds him of Derek so he’s been avoiding his neighbours but that doesn’t mean he’s  _retired_.

He finishes he run early, mood turning sour and loops back around to his house. He stops in his tracks when his eyes land on a rose sitting innocently on his porch. He picks it up and inspects it; it’s been pruned, there’s no thorns sticking out and it doesn’t come with a note or anything. He looks around once, eyes lingering over the fence before shaking his head resolutely trudging inside.

It’s nothing.

*

The next morning he’s rushing out the door, already late for work, when he almost tramples a lily. It’s sitting in the exact same place the rose had been yesterday. Again there’s no note or indication of who it’s from except the old conversation lingering in Stiles’ head.

_“Well you could always go with roses. Then again you wouldn’t want to be cliché.”_

_“We wouldn’t want that.”_

_“Or people seem to be a big fan of lilies but they tend to be associated with funerals and that’s not exactly the message you want to send.”_

_“Definitely not.”_

_“Peonies are nice too…Or you could just skip the flowers and just ask him out.”_

Stiles swallows down his hopefulness and looks over the fence again. The Camaro’s not in the driveway and while it could be in the garage, Stiles refuses to believe Derek would’ve come back to town without him finding out. The town’s not _that_  big.

*

He gets home from work later than he expects and he wants nothing more than to just crawl into bed and not resurface for ten or so hours when he pauses at his porch again.

Because there’s a  _peony_ there.

And remember that thing about patterns? Yeah.

Stiles can’t take it anymore. Either someone’s playing a sick joke on him or…or…he doesn’t know what.

He hurries down the porch steps and hops the fence without much thought. He marches up to Derek’s door – or what  _was_  Derek’s door – and begins banging loudly but no one answers.

He waits a few minutes before letting out a frustrated noise and dashing back to his house to grab his keys. He gets into the jeep and tears out of the driveway without a second thought, heading straight for The Best of Buds. The lights are off but he’ll take his chances.

He parks the jeep haphazardly in front of the shop before climbing out. He pauses at the door, now that he’s here he’s nervous. What if it really is Derek? What if it’s just something else entirely? He doesn’t know which would be worse but the little voice in his head says he has to find out. Cautiously, he reaches for the latch on the door and it opens when he gives it a gentle push.

He makes his way inside, flicking on the lights as he does and then closes the door behind him.

And then there’s Derek; standing behind the counter with a self-satisfied grin, holding the most obnoxious –  _beautiful -_ flower arrangement he’s ever seen with yep, roses, lilies and peonies.

Stiles wants to punch him and then maybe kiss him for about ten hours.

“I was wondering how long it’d take you to figure out,” Derek muses. “Given that you  _are_  a cop and all.”

Stiles gives him an affronted look before striding forward and slamming his hands down on the counter that separates them – it’s mostly to prevent himself from fisting his hands in Derek’s shirt and kissing him senseless. “Are you trying to tell me you stopped calling because you came back to town but neglected to tell me in favour of me  _guessing?”_ he finishes in an incredulously shrill voice.

Derek’s smile drops and he looks a bit abashed, seemingly realising the implications of what he just did. “It was Laura and Erica’s idea,” he mumbles. “I didn’t even think about you taking me not calling the wrong way.”

Stiles’ expression softens a bit at the genuine worry creasing Derek’s forehead and he slips the bouquet out of Derek’s hands, “It’s lovely.”

“Figured you’d get a kick out of it,” Derek says, trying to smile though it comes out more like a grimace.

“How’d you even pull it off?” Stiles asks because he  _knows_  he would’ve noticed Derek leaving something on his porch.

“Our neighbours can be very helpful when they want to be,” Derek admits sheepishly.

He doesn’t want to but Stiles feels a smile tugging at his lips.  _Of course_. “So are you back for good?” he asks, hoping to god he’s not misinterpreting the situation.

Derek’s smile is back and he nods quickly, “I like it here and I miss you and maybe we might not work out but I want to at least  _try_.” It comes out all in a rush like he’s been rehearsing it in is head for hours, or maybe even days and all it does is make Stiles a little bit more enamoured with him.

 “And you’re right,” Derek adds. “Mrs Anderson’s Hot Cocoa cupcakes are to die for.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and puts the flowers down, grabbing hold of the front of Derek’s shirt like he’s wanted to since the minute he walked through the door. “C’mere you big romantic idiot.”

Derek gives him a delighted smile before his hands come up to cradle Stiles’ face and their lips brush together.

It happens softly at first before they both become more insistent; weeks of separation making them a little desperate. Eventually Stiles huffs in frustration and lets go of Derek to hop onto the counter and push himself to the edge on Derek’s side, wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist and pulling him in again.

Derek sighs contentedly into his mouth before pulling away for just a second, “So you forgive me?” he asks a little breathlessly.

Stiles grins, “If you say so.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I hope you enjoyed it because this has been my favourite fic to write so far and I pretty much wrote it all off the top of my head so...yeah XD
> 
> Merry Christmas, Hela bb, i hope your present was satisfactory <3
> 
> For the rest of you, you can find me on tumblr at [ allyasavedtheday](http://allyasavedtheday.tumblr.com/) if you're interested :)


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